


Muscle Memory

by Twice2Ennien



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Hands, M/M, Moving On, One Shot, Post-Canon, The power of friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice2Ennien/pseuds/Twice2Ennien
Summary: Five times Caleb notices Molly's hands, one time he doesn't, one time he wishes he hadn't, and one time he finally notices his own.Loosely canon-adjacent fluff... then it catches up to current (c2e116) and things go painfully from there.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	Muscle Memory

Molly's fingers dance across the tavern piano's keys as he slides onto the bench, teasing out an unepected harmony.

"Huh. Didn't know I could play," he remarks, face shifting rapidly from unimpressed to self-satisfied. He flips his coat to spread out behind him, no performance too minor, no audience too small.

After a moment, Caleb is surprised to recognize an old Zemnian folksong. The other patrons are deep in their cups and don't seem interested in the show. Feeling strangely compelled, he steps forward:

"I know this one," he mutters, and taking a drink he starts to sing, eyes flitting to seek the other man's reaction. But of course, Molly has worked with all sorts of talents. He just grins wider, plays louder -- attempts to join in the chorus with the worst accent Caleb's ever heard. When the song ends, Caleb realizes they've been all but shouting. The sickly undertone of his face turns tomato red and he excuses himself.

\---------

"Don't get up," Molly urges, slipping into the room with surprising delicacy. Confused, Caleb looks up from his transcription. His gaze hardens into suspicion at the arm held unsubtly behind his intruder's back.

With a characteristically enticing smile and a flourish, Molly produces a hairbrush.

"Argue if you want, but I'll have you know I made Nott and Jester a promise we'd do something about that mane of yours before tonight."

Molly spends the better part of an hour making pleasant conversation while his hands move on autopilot, clearing out tangles and dirt and doing away with broken ends. Caleb lets himself believe this is necessary, better than burning a spell and having to mind the time on a mission. A practical concern.

\---------

It was a close thing, Caleb supposes, and maybe that makes it all right just this once to indulge? He's drunker than he's been so when Molly says it's his turn for a fortune he says sure. Maybe some part of him welcomes the attention. Mollymauk's directness cuts through so much of the accumulated dirt in the world. When Caleb meets his eyes, for a minute he can almost see himself differently. Like a whole person. Like just another man... like anyone else here. A man with a fortune to read and maybe, even, a future. Caleb is definitely drunk.

While his mind wanders, Molly's shuffling his the cards, spreading them out on the table face-down until Beau sets her ale down too hard and then he's picking them up in a hurry, offended. Molly says something scathing and it comes out half-slurred and Beau's laughter is infectious until the whole table is roaring, even Caleb, and he smiles and Molly looks up and even then it takes a beat for him to know he's been staring. His chest feels hot, which is normal of course alcohol has that effect on the body.

Molly leans closer and reaches across the table and fans out the cards and now it's serious. Caleb scrunches his face in a show of concentration and goes to pick a card but stops just shy, making a show out of trying to read Molly's face.

"The first card I reach for should be the one you want me to pick," he rambles, half-accusingly. "Unless of course you've anticipated this, in which case--" Caleb reaches out again, snaps his fingers instead of making contact-- "it would be the second one, so-- I can't take one that either."

Molly's face, once a practiced neutral grin, has long since given up the pretense. He's slowly losing a battle against another round of belly-deep laughter and Jester's protestations that that's NOT how magic WORKS aren't helping.

"Caleb, man, I think you're overthinking this," Beau snickers into her mug. Bored, she looks around the room for better entertainment and makes eye contact with a face only a bar fight could love. Grins. Stands.

Having narrowed it down to maybe three options, Caleb has just started to retrieve his selection when the sounds of splintering wood and shouts break out behind him. Molly stands and makes to put the cards away but as he does gives just a glimpse:

The face of Caleb's card shows a bright, full moon and a shadowed figure reaching out towards-- a tangled vine? a hidden hand?

\---------

They're sitting watch together, the fire burning low at their backs. For a long time Caleb remembers the entire conversation, but sometimes even he is grateful to forget.

Molly has been trying hard to sell Caleb on exactly that-- forgetting. For a man who's only lived two years he's possessed of remarkable wisdom, though he hides it well.

So the subject isn't new or so remarkable, but what is different? Not the content but the feeling of it. Familiar but not painful. Caleb doesn't slip away into his own head, and every time he starts to Molly has another extravagant story.

After a while Caleb realizes he's doing it again, staring, at a curl of hair, a line of ink, the swallow of a throat, the quirk of lips. A mouth that hasn't moved now for several seconds. Caleb looks away, pretending to be lost in thought.

"I don't mind being stared at, you know," Molly says gently. He slides closer.

Caleb starts to brace himself against the ground to move away but Molly catches his hand. 

"Whatever's in there telling you some story, Caleb. Leave it be. Have some godsdamned fun. Be _here_." Deft fingers spread calloused ones, entwine. The contrast is striking and Caleb knows he's staring again but it's all he can do with his own mind telling him what he knows he deserves.

"Don't you go back in there," Molly insists, turning to face Caleb with the firelight bright in his eyes. "Whoever's in there talking, I refuse to believe they're more compelling than I am," he grins, "and you can tell them I said that. Fuck off," he whispers, and Caleb kisses him.

========

Months pass.

The Nein walk into another ice-filled chamber but this one's not devoid of life. There's a figure on the lower level and it's one thing to know what's coming but it's Molly even though it isn't. And Molly was a good liar but Lucien is a great one, and Caleb spends the whole conversation searching fruitlessly for the slightest sign.

An involuntary muscle spasm in his hand-- well, that's new-- but Lucien turns smoothly and crosses his arms to bury the twitch. He doesn't know Caduceus, of course. He has no reason to believe he hasn't gotten away with the deception.

Later, back in the tower home that doubles as a memorial, Caleb is unnecessarily supervising the post-dinner cleanup when Caduceus comes back to catch him alone.

"Mr. Caleb. If you've got a minute. I brought tea." Caleb slides into a chair and if the teacup rattles just a bit against the saucer, well, they're all tired.

"I believe he was lying. Something in there... He may not remember the group, but that man recognized you."

For a moment, Caleb stops breathing.

========

They spend precious weeks together. Talking. Holding hands. Healing. Sleeping, not sleeping, fucking around. Caleb doesn't try to hide it and Molly makes it obvious but Nott and Jester still squeal each time they touch like it's the third act of a romantic play.

Then Caleb gets to watch all his hopes collapse under their own weight. Maybe they were too much for one person. Maybe he believed too much, had needed to believe. Molly lies bleeding and lifeless and he has to step closer and the comfort of his own loathing closes back in like a rotten old blanket to keep out the world.

Caleb blinks, and he is standing at the grave of a man he'd kissed that morning. Blinks and the colorful coat fades over the horizon as reality sinks back in. But even reality is wrong, and the rot doesn't cling quite like it used to.

========

The next time they see Lucien, it's too late for questions. Battle rages, and if Caleb finds his focus on speeding Beau's efforts against the brute -- on trading spellwork with Cree -- well, there are plenty of targets on both sides.

Then in an instant Lucien is 50 feet out of position, blades out, and Veth's lips are slick with blood. Anger burning bright within him, Caleb reaches out. A thin bolt of green extends; the tiefling's arm disintegrates. Caleb tries to hold himself together with a phrase, something about real friends knowing who you are-- but Lucien turns to glare, furious, and the pain in his eyes roots deeper than physical injury.

Just as quickly, he closes the distance between them. A shield spell blocks the first blow, but Lucien pivots quickly and Caleb tastes the copper as the blade runs him through. His heart is numb. His left hand clutches at Molly-- at Lucien's sleeve unconsciously, and the blade, damn him, it stops. Their eyes lock, and in that moment Caleb cannot tell whose gaze he holds. He blinks first; later he'll torture himself over the tear in Molly/Lucien's eye, but now he chalks it up to the pain of a lost arm, rage at coming so close to destiny.

Caleb tries to speak through the blood in his mouth, quietly at first. Does he imagine it or does Lucien lean closer? Voice rising, he shouts the spell's close. Too late, curiosity gives way to alarm. Caleb grasps the other man's good arm with all the strength he has left as a wave of immolating flame spills upwards from the point where they meet.

Heartbeats come to pass like decades. Like years of possibility drifting upwards into ash.

Lucien lets go the blade still buried in Caleb's side as he starts to fall.

Bren stares, captivated by the dance of flame consuming Molly's eyes.

Hands slip, meet, hold. Fingers intertwine.

Their last seconds burn like ice as what's left of Lucien, Molly, and any hope they had between them crumbles. By the time Caleb hits the ground, he's joined only by ash.

\---------

He doesn't want to draw another breath, but the unforgiving ice allows no quarter for isolation and self-loathing. So Caleb marches onward alongside his worried friends, unspeaking, flexing his burnt fingers until they bleed.

Veth allows him maybe two hours of this poor behavior before he gives in; Jester's puppy eyes and willingness to cast actual healing magic are more than he has the strength to resist. So his traitor hands are pink and new, but the work of repairing himself will take longer.

Caleb stares off into the swirling snow for a while but sudden laughter pulls him back. He looks around him at shoulders set with confidence and purpose, eyes that meet his with care and understanding. Flashes of color against the blinding snow.

Maybe with time the losses come easier, maybe, or they don't cut as deep. Caleb lets out a breath he was unaware of holding, spreads his fingers apart. Molly died months ago, Molly died hours ago... Molly had lived. And so will he.

**Author's Note:**

> When you try to write drabbles but can't resist driving the angst knife in just a little bit deeper... except wouldn't you know it, the damn characters have _grown_.  
> Just throwing this out there before it gets absolutely decimated by canon. <3


End file.
